


marks

by seigyoku



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, No Strings Attached
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seigyoku/pseuds/seigyoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"in which kujou ten and izumi iori have both feet in their mouth" the AU<br/>alternatively: ioten banging with no strings attached because Aesthetic</p>
            </blockquote>





	marks

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how to tag this because I haven't posted on AO3 in like two years??? But yeaH I was just trying to write a short Sad Banging fic and suddenly 2k words...... I ...  
> ANYWAYS for extra fun you can listen to the same songs I did when I wrote them:  
> section 1: Leopard Eyes (instrumental) - TRIGGER  
> section 2: 蝶 - Acid Black Cherry  
> section 3: 忘れないで - TVXQ

**i. marks**

 

He's not quite sure how all of this started, but Ten doesn't get the luxury of thinking when his back slams against the wall and lips press against his neck-- hot, desperate, needy.

Out of sheer muscle memory from the countless times they've done this, Ten tilts his head so Iori can trail kisses down to his collarbone. His breath hitches when Iori nips at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and Ten's hands find their way into Iori's blazer. His grip tightens when the younger boy's lips find his neck again, tongue softly trailing up his jugular--

Ten laughs a little more breathlessly than he'd like, "I didn't know you were a vampire, Izumi Iori-- _ah_ \--"

His taunting is cut short when Iori actually bites down on his neck, then sucks. Ten's hands fist into Iori's blazer at the sensation, and half of him wants those lips elsewhere, much much lower from his neck. But the other half of him remembers in the midst of this haze, and Ten attempts to push Iori off, hissing.

"Did you forget? Part of the deal was _not_ to leave visible marks."

Iori pulls away from his neck and looks Ten dead in the eye, lips glistening in the low light of his apartment entrance hall and face flushed.

Ten does not back down from his gaze. He had a reputation to defend as Kujou Ten of TRIGGER, and he was not going to let anyone tarnish it.

Iori's gaze is impassive, impatient even, when he sighs. "Kujou-san, don't worry, I do remember what our deal was. Regardless, the mark I just left won't be visible."

Ten opens his mouth to protest, but then Iori presses him closer against the wall and angles his head down, breath tingling against his ear. "No one will see them on stage, at the very least. That's all that matters right?"

He involuntarily shivers at the hum of Iori's voice, but refuses to back down even when one of Iori's hands trails its way down Ten's chest and Iori's lips find their place back on Ten's neck.

"What I am supposed to do off-stage then?" Ten manages to hiss, through gritted teeth as he feels nails graze against his waistband and hears the soft clink of his belt falling to the floor.

Iori breaks away again, looking even more exasperated than before. He breathes out yet another sigh, before his eyes narrow with the slightest glint of danger.

"Kujou-san." Ten hums noncommittally.

"Please stop talking."

Iori drops to his knees, and mouths at his clothed erection. A moan escapes from Ten as he bucks upwards from the wall, only to have his hips roughly shoved back down.

"I'm sure you can make do with scarves or collared shirts," Iori monotones while he unzips Ten's pants and pushes them down to the floor. "I have no doubts about your ability to coordinate around those items. After all you, _are_ super idol and fashion icon Kujou Ten."

Ten is ready to fire a rebuttal back and glares down at Iori. But Iori maintains the eye contact and languidly licks up Ten's entire length before the words can leave Ten's mouth.

"Shit," Ten gasps out, fingers finding their way into Iori's hair. Ten desperately wants to thrust up into the slick heat of Iori's mouth, but he's held down by Iori's iron grip on his hips.

Ten already knows he's going to have bruises there, and he can't help but feel a thrill run down his spine. He thinks about the tabloids, the sensational titles speculating about the origin of the marks blooming against his pale skin, on his hips and his neck. He thinks about Gaku and Ryuu, absolutely scandalized when Ten lifts his arms up in dance practice, shirt riding up only to reveal the violet marring his hipbones--

He's jolted from his thoughts when Iori flicks his tongue at the tip of his dick, before wrapping his lips and sinking down.

Ten tries to keep his composure, but his body rebels against him; he can't stop the soft whimpers escaping him as he revels in the feel of Iori's tongue and the wet noises filling up the empty entryway.

He's close, he's so, _so_ close and Ten sinks his teeth down into his lip to silence himself. But it's not enough.

His hands leave Iori's hair so he can muffle himself with his sleeves, and Iori pulls off abruptly.

"Don't. Let me hear you, Kujou-san," Iori orders, voice low and steely.

"Fuck off," Ten snarls from behind his sleeve, but Iori glares up at him, eyes hooded and lips swollen.

"Is that so?" Iori breathes the words out, and the warm air against his dick sends a shiver down Ten's spine.

"That's fine by me Kujou-san, we can stop right here if you want." Each word is torture to Ten, because he can feel every breath from Iori's lips, which are everywhere except for where he wants them to be.

Iori's lips move to his inner thigh, and he trails soft kisses upwards, closer and closer. Ten stifles yet another moan when Iori nips at his thigh and leaves another hickey.

"Your answer, Kujou-san?" Iori questions, breath cold against the searing hot mark on his thigh.

"Fine," Ten grits out as he forces his hands down and back into Iori's hair.

A corner of Iori's lip twitches up. "Good boy," he murmurs as his hands slide down to Ten's bare thighs, gripping them firmly.

Iori's mouth is back on Ten's dick and almost immediately Ten's fingers tug at Iori's hair as he tosses his head back against the wall.

"Ah--" Iori's tongue feels so good against him, and Ten just wants to succumb to the sweet numbness building up inside him again. He doesn't care how loud he is anymore, because it only spurs Iori on to take him deeper.

His pride as Kujou Ten never mattered to begin with, not when things were like this between them.

Iori hums around his dick and Ten shudders out a gasp at the vibrations. "Iori--"

Ten can't take it anymore, not when Iori's moaning around his dick too, his grey eyes hazy with lust and his cheeks flushed crimson as he bobs up and down. Ten's sure he’s downright begging at this point and his flushes at the thought, but he's so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

"Fuck, Iori, _please_ \--"

Iori hums, lips brushing against the base of his cock and sucks harder. Ten lets out a choked cry and throws his head back in pleasure, releasing into Iori's mouth. The sensation races through his veins, and he lets it flood his limbs and cloud his mind as he jerks into Iori's throat. He feels Iori swallow around him before pulling off, and the iron grip on his thighs is released.

Ten slides down to the floor, chest heaving and legs trembling from the force of his climax. He hears Iori walking to the bathroom and he lets out a deep sigh of content. He takes a few moments to just breathe and recover, basking in the post-orgasm haze.

These were the few moments he spent as himself, and not Kujou Ten the idol. Kujou Ten, the impeccable perfectionist. Kujou Ten, the center of TRIGGER and destined rival to IDOLiSH7.

How ironic that he'd end up fucking the mouth of someone from his rival band, Izumi Iori's of all people.

Ten almost laughs. The boy was so obviously infatuated with Riku it was a near miracle how his brother hadn't figured it out by now. Anyone could tell, even from the way that sharp gaze of Iori's would soften at the edges whenever he looked at Riku or called out "Nanase-san."

_Nanase-san, huh..._

Maybe that's why this deal was working out, why his reckless proposition had worked and why these trysts had yet to end.

\---

At the sound of the lock clicking shut, Iori collapses against the bathroom door, breaths haggard.

He's hard and painfully so, and all he can think of at this very moment is Ten.

Iori's fingers fumble at his belt as images of Ten flood his mind-- his cheeks flushing pink in pleasure, the purple of the bruises blooming against Ten's pale hipbones and milky-white thighs, the soft sighs of _"Iori"_ and _"please"_ and _"more"_ filling up the space between them.

He has to make this fast, it's already 9:17 PM and he has school tomorrow, but all of this was his own fault anyways for being so impulsive. Iori curses his own lack of time management for a brief moment before wrapping his fingers around his throbbing member and sighs.

"Kujou-san," he breathes out when he begins stroking, letting the images fill his mind again. All of their other meetings resurface in his memory and Iori groans.

_Ten’s thighs trembling as his tongue trails down from his navel and dips further downwards._

His fingers tighten, speeding up--

_The almost feline arch of Ten's back as Iori runs a slick finger down the curve of his spine, past his tailbone, teasing at his entrance._

_The feel of Ten’s arms wrapping around his neck as he gasps, “Iori, I need you, now.”_

A sharp exhale, echoing against the bathroom tile--

_The unbearable heat inside of Ten as he fucks himself on Iori, voice hoarse and nowhere near the smooth, flawless tenor that the fans heard on stage all but fifteen minutes ago._

_His lithe fingers white from gripping the headboard as Iori thrusts into him from behind, hard and fast._

_Ten, eyes glassy and lips swollen, moaning underneath him while his nails dig into his back. "Please, Iori, please, I'm so close--"_

Iori shudders,

_\---so this is what Nanase-san would've felt like._

A low groan escapes Iori's throat as he messily releases all over his hand. Shakily exhaling, he walks to the sink to clean himself up. He splashes cold water on his face, in hopes of clearing the feverish haze clouding his mind, and looks up.

How did it escalate to this point?

More importantly, when did he become this _weak_?

He shouldn’t care this much, not when all they were doing was using each other. And yet, why couldn’t he stop thinking about Kujou-san?

Why couldn’t he stop these meetings? Why couldn’t he stop craving the taste of Kujou-san’s skin against his lips--

Iori grits his teeth, and wipes away the icy cold droplets.

Iori prides himself on being a man of logic, on his ability to analyze any and every situation. And yet here he was, because he acted out on impulse to Ten’s words again.

A shaky sigh resounds in the icy cold bathroom.

This was his own fault, for caving into temptation and curiosity.

\---

Ten opens his eyes again as he hears footsteps approaching him. _Iori sure took an awful long time in the bathroom,_ he muses _. He must've taken care of it himself in there._

Somehow the thought irritates Ten. All of this felt so imbalanced; there are times when Ten demands this kind of undivided attention, almost everyone does, but Iori rarely asks for anything unless provoked. Even with his group members, he always watches from afar, observing and noting from the commotion without needing to be part of it. That much Ten could tell.

Iori is too selfless, too kind-- especially to someone like him.

"Here." The boy's voice is curt, cold even, and Ten looks up impassively. Iori crouches down and wordlessly begins wiping away Ten's residual sweat, tidying up his clothes. The towel is warm against his skin, and Iori's touch is so careful that Ten bites back a acrid laugh. Is this really the same person who had slammed him against a wall earlier in retaliation for some offhand comment?

Iori is always, always too kind to him.

Ten doesn't deserve this in the slightest, not when they’re just fucking with no strings attached. They even have terms and conditions, just like a business deal.

Nothing Ten does should warrant this level of care, not when all he ever does is provoke Iori, dig his nails into his wounds, dredge up unpleasant thoughts--

But what is it to Ten? Why should _he_ care?

Ten almost wishes that Iori was colder to him, that he wouldn't spend this extra time minding him and just leave after they finish. That Iori wouldn’t take the time to do things like set out breakfast for him in the morning after if he spent the night over, fucking Ten into the mattress, or glance at him in concern when they pass each other in the hallways of whichever recording studio they were at when he sees Ten’s slight limp.

It's times like this that Ten regrets ever reaching out to Iori's figure in the shadows of the backstage area, gazing at the radiant stage where Riku stood.

"Kujou-san?"

Ten's head snaps up at the sound of his name being called. Iori clears his throat, and nods his head at the clock ticking away on the wall. 9:30 PM.

"I have to leave. It's getting late."

Ten nods in acknowledgement and Iori leaves to slip his shoes back on.

It's times like these that Ten wishes he wasn't a coward and could face whatever it was he was beginning to feel for the younger Izumi instead of crushing it down into the recesses of his heart. But Ten doesn't want to know just what it is, doesn't dare think about it because in the off-chance that he's right about this, it'll be nothing but a lost battle.

Fate is cruel in that it gave Ten gave everything and more -- a healthy body, sharp wits, an even sharper tongue, good fortune, luck, genius -- and yet he could never win, would never win. Not when Riku is his opponent.

"Good night, Kujou-san."

The door slams shut, and Ten whispers the words he's been longing to say into the emptiness.

_"Don't go."_

**Author's Note:**

> BIG THANKS TO MY LOSER/DARLING ROOMMATE and also my Beta, [PhantomViolinist (AO3)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomViolinist/pseuds/kuri) !!!  
> Honestly our late night headcanon-ing is going 2 be the death of me one daY  
> This all started when we began to consider "what if ioten" and this conversation ended up happening:  
> me: haha so what if iori thinks/says 'so this is what nanase-san would've felt like'  
> kuri: SHIROI NO WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT  
> me: ima do iT  
> [PS PLEASE CHECK OUT HER TAMAIORIKU FIC !!! It hurts my sOUL BUT ITS WONDERFUL ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5471723)


End file.
